In Their Name
by Schwarz Engel
Summary: When an object of great importance fell into the hands of Rune Midgard's greatest murderer, they were charged with it's retrieval. But how can they find that which they hold no knowledge of? Rating subject to change.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Ragnarok Online. If I did I could probably pay people to write this _for_ me.

**Author's Notes:** While not my first piece of writing, this is my first time placing one here. That said, please comment. If you have an opinion, then share it.

**Prologue**

_**Intent**_

"Hold position! Steady at the rear!"

Orion sighed from his position on the wagon, if more in frustration than simple annoyance. Had his position not been obscured from view he would have stood out as the only man not on edge. Between the swordsmen and knights brandishing their weapons and the merchants edging anxiously to the rear of the convoy, such behavior would have been more than noticed. He stroked at his cerulean hair with one gloved hand – a habit he had taken up when things did not work out as planned – and cast his gaze beyond the mass of people and across the fields. He could make out several pinpricks of light that seemed to float in the night sky; torches lining the southern wall of Prontera. Here he was, not even a mile away from the city, when something had to happen.

Orion merely shook his head in disbelief, more irritated that trouble _had_ to spring itself upon him at the last second than worried for his life, and calmly stepped out of the wagon.

The man in merchant's garb calmly strode to the head of the four-cart caravan, where a gathering of ten mixed sword-wielders had formed a defensive line against the unexpected company. Orion himself did not stop until he was several paces beyond the barricade of blades, painting himself as the head of the pack. Opposite him was a relatively small gathering of individuals.

The first to acquire Orion's notice was, oddly enough, located at the back of the group. This was probably because he stood a whole head taller than everyone else. He appeared solid and well-built, with a clean-shaven head that only seemed to add to his titanic appearance. This build confused the watcher to some degree, as he bore both the garments and staff of a wizard. _Someone I should keep an eye on,_ Orion noted inwardly.

His golden gaze shifted to the next biggest man of the bunch; an overweight individual who could be recognized as a monk. This was equally odd, considering that his obese form and squat limbs seemed to indicate what would normally be a lack of mobility. He also took note of the man's facial features, which were clearly foreign. If Orion had to guess, he would assume he was looking at a native of Kunlun. Or perhaps Louyang. Not that it made a hell of a difference.

The third member of the mixed band was easily identified as an assassin. In sharp contrast with the previous two subjects of Orion's gaze, this man was quite wiry. His hair was a shade of green that rivaled the present foliage, but more interesting was the blinker he wore. This band of vision-inhibiting cloth, combined with his shark-like grin, would have sent a chill up the spine of most onlookers. It positively _reeked_ of foul deeds gone unpunished.

The final three members of this band, by comparison, were relatively nondescript. A blonde blacksmith with what might have been the cockiest grin Orion had seen in several years, a glasses-wearing alchemist with purple hair styled unusually long, and an aged knight with all the facial expression of an earthen cliff. Though distinct in their own natural ways, they seemed rather plain when paired with the rest. It was not very pleasing on the eyes. Regardless, they were among the gathering that stood rigidly opposite of the caravan. None made a motion. They only stood.

Oh, and their clothing was almost entirely soiled with blood.

There was a moment of silence between Orion and the mob. A brief breeze blew past, as if nature itself held the same level of anticipation as the caravan. Every man present heard the pounding of his or her heart, beating an ominous cacophony into their ears from the safety of their chests. Every now and again a knight would shift, producing an odd creak as gauntlet interacted with sword hilt. Even Orion, collected as he was, was not immune to this odd sensation. It seemed as if every minute sound in all of Rune Midgard could reach his ears, regardless of volume or distance. Somewhere off in the distance he was sure he could hear the "plop plop" of Porings traversing the grassy field. The crack of his twitching finger, the hum of his breath, the buzzing of some merchant's stomach; all came to him. He was not one to rush things, but he found himself begging for a conclusion to this standoff.

His prayers were answered.

The pack of marauders parted suddenly, producing a twitch or gasp from the caravan. From within the newly made path tread a new face, previously concealed from view. This newcomer was clearly a hunter, as indicated by his choice of attire, the bow at his back, and the quiver at his waist. His hair was a shade of gray. Not silver or purest white, but gray. And yet he only appeared to be in his early thirties, indicating that it was his natural hair color and not simply a result of the aging process. A necklace hung about his neck, strung with some manner of small, white objects. Orion's initial assumption was that they were shells or stones of some kind. Upon closer inspection, however, they proved to be human teeth. This did not unsettle him though. What did was how the stranger smiled at him. The way his lips curled, his brilliant emerald eyes encased his gaze of gold.....Orion felt a chill despite his best efforts.

The man's approach halted at several yards distance, positioning him just opposite of Orion. Unlike the rest of his posse he did not allow the silence to linger.

"Did I come to the right place, I wonder?" the hunter mused aloud, scratching his chin in a manner that might have been comical. "I do so hate mixing this sort of thing up...."

Orion's eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms. _Who the hell does this guy think he is?_ "If you're not sure," he responded coldly, "you could just pack it up and leave. Advice from one man to another."

To Orion's surprise, the hunter laughed. Not a full-on cackle, but something closer to a giggle. He was amused about something. "I thank you for the advice, dear sir, but I believe I already have a method for that."

Orion raised an eyebrow, but maintained his hostile appearance. "Oh?"

The mystery hunter, seeming to be entertained by the back-and-forth, folded his hands patiently. "It's quite easy, really. It all hinges upon one vital fact." Something flickered in his eyes for a brief moment. Something dangerous. Something opposed to his existing attitude. "That fact being, of course, that you are Orion the Nightshade, Assassin Cross in the personal service of King Tristan III."

Orion's eyes registered surprise almost immediately. _What the....?_ He did his best to push it down, and within a second his gaze had returned to it's prior cold self. Seeing as how his stint as a merchant was clearly over, he calmly undid the pouch hooked to the back of his belt and retrieved his katars. He did not much enjoy the clothes of the merchant anyway. "Lets say I am. What happens next?"

In his usual manner, the gray-haired hunter only smiled back at Orion's steel gaze. His tone was soft, patient. "Then I go and retrieve my prize." He tilted his body to the left, as if to get a view of everything behind the exposed assassin. "Third wagon, fourth box from the front, left row." He returned to a full upright stance. "Am I right?"

Now Orion felt it. A terrible cold all throughout his body, as if some otherworldly force had wrapped him within its foggy tendrils. His vision struggled somewhere between blurred and intense. His heart worked double-time, turning his veins into a speedway of plasma and adrenaline. The air in his lungs grew heavy, forcing his chest into a workout. Sweat fell from every pour on his body. This was fear. Fear brought on by the overpowering killing intent radiating from smiling man with the bow. Never before had Orion felt this way. Many a man had threatened his life, but he had not felt this emotion from such a challenge! His throat dried. His knees wavered. The hands which brandished his favorite katars seemed numb, lifeless. _Why does no man run?_ he pondered from within the confines of his skull. _Not even a single soldier has dropped his weapon and fled! Why? Are they stupid! Surely they can feel this! He will murder them all! He will murder _ME_!_

"Who.....who are.....what are...." He stammered. He could not help it. No coherent thought could enter his head in the presence of this demon.

The hunter's smiling lips curled back, revealing rows of shining teeth. "Ask around when I'm finished. I'm sure someone else in hell will be familiar with me!"

* * *

**End Notes:** Ok, so even I admit that was kinda forced. I had an idea of what I wanted but not how to execute it. But now that this is over, I can get to the real story at hand! Smooth sailing from here, I say!


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:** It starts!

**Chapter One**

_**Inquiry**_

In addition to being the capital of Rune Midgard, Prontera was known as an excellent point for up-and-coming adventurers and mercenaries. Though it only offered progress as an acolyte within its walls, its position at the center of the nation meant cities offering other career choices could be reached with generally the same amount of difficulty. It also helped that the Swordsmen Guild, which was a fairly popular place of employment these days, rested in Prontera's satellite city. Many would agree that part of the city's appeal were the fields around it. Being such a large place, anything of mediocre strength around the capital had long-since been mercilessly slaughtered for sport. This meant that the average novice could romp around and practice their skills on the less intimidating Porings and other such fluff. Occasionally someone would stumble across the body of some careless greenhorn, but that rarely happened.

This most likely contributed to Tyrus' discomfort. Never had he seen so many corpses within such proximity to the city.

The priest stepped tenderly through the reddened field, feeling he would somehow dishonor the dead if he strode too casually through the massacre. Now and then he would utter a small prayer toward one of the fallen, always moving on. It was as if he had stepped into the aftermath of one of those battles described in the history books. The very grass at his feet had been painted red to match the orange ball of light that hung some distance over his head. To think that a man could cause all of this....

"You alright?"

The young priest jumped. He had nearly forgotten that others were present! Tyrus half-turned to his companion with a weak smile, somewhat embarrassed that he had been so easily startled. "Yeah Lu, just a little surprised. I wasn't expecting this kind of body count." He produced a low chuckle for emphasis.

Lucia, his lavender-haired crusader partner, crossed her arms and gave him a look that was part skepticism with a touch of concern. She had been doing that a lot lately. "Are you sure? You look a little pale."

Tyrus focused his thoughts on his robes, which he went about smoothing with either hand. "I honestly haven't seen this many corpses in one place before." He brought his gaze back to her, viridian eyes meeting her cool blue gaze. "But I'm fine. Really." There was a moment where it seemed Lucia was going to press the point. It did not last though, for after a scarce few seconds she sighed in concession.

"If you say so...." she muttered with a sort of defeated shrug. "We should probably get back to our job then. Sorry." Another moment of silence, after which the pair shared a brief smile. They had worked together for two years, and though that was a relatively short period of time it had been enough for them to develop a certain empathy for one another. In the same way Lucia had sensed Tyrus' discomfort, she also knew that it was nothing serious. The crusader still could not help but silently store it away for later.

The pair traversed the field of blood and steel, heading towards a series of burnt husks toward the center of the carnage. That was where the knights that staffed Prontera's law enforcement seemed to have gathered. The walk was a brief one, but it gave the duo enough time to get a proper grasp of the scene.

The site seemed to be littered with only merchants and swordsmen, with a knight thrown here or there. Though it was hard to tell with the absurd amount of blood plastered to the soil, the land itself seemed to be damaged. There were parts where ground seemed to have burst from within, or where whole areas of grass had been burned away to leave disks of blackened char. Neither Tyrus nor Lucia communicated this observation with the other, but they both reached the conclusion that a caster of some sort had been the cause. This was not a difficult result to reach when one noted that many of the burns were in the shape of perfect circles.

Additionally, Lucia observed that most of the bodies, if not all of them, were loaded with arrows. Some of the fighters had four or five in their chests. It seemed that the attackers, whoever they might be, derived much of their killing power from archers.

The pair of knights by the carts were in deep conversation by the time they were reached. When initially reacted with alarm when approached, with one half-completing the motion needed to reach his weapon. This much more desirable emotion was hastily restored to that hard grimace one expected of the guard, if with the slightest tinge of apprehension present. The soldier on the right, who admittedly looked a bit oafish, stepped forward to greet the newcomers. "This is no place for sightseeing," he expressed in a sort of nasally voice. He managed to stand in a somewhat forceful way, bodily radiating the impression that he had taken charge. Tyrus silently complemented him on so skillfully pulling it off, but they had dealt with enough guards to know better.

The priest only gave the man his gentle smile, reaching into his robes for something. "You misunderstand us, sir." His hand closed around the object he sought, prompting him to remove it from the folds. A short piece of parchment, delicately rolled, lay in Tyrus' hands. "We are agents to the Holy Church of Prontera. It is your superiors who requested our assistance in this matter." The guard snatched the paper away. Tyrus only chuckled as the man scanned it over, brushing a strand of his blond bowl-cut hair from his vision. "Please note the seal and signature at the bottom."

The man only spared the document a few scarce moments of his time before handing it back. He appeared frustrated, with a good amount of disgust directed at the text. "Whatever. Our captain will be with you shortly." He stalked away with his fellow soldier, curses vaguely audible from under his breath. It was Lucia's turn laugh, raising a gauntleted hand to her lips to stifle a giggle. Tyrus clasped his hands casually behind his head and turned his beaming smile toward the older woman.

"So where should we start?"

Lucia placed a hand on one hip, tapping her chin as she looked about. Her smile had faded to its prior concern as they went back to business. "That's hard to say, considering the amount of secrecy this whole mission has been wrapped in." Her gaze slowly swiveled to the carts. "My best bet would be to check there first. It was supposed to be in the wagons, right?"

Tyrus nodded in agreement, his countenance wiped equally clean as they returned to business. "Yeah, that was what he said."

* * *

"_You don't know what was stolen?"_

_Cahir plopped onto his bed, rubbing his temples with either gloved hand. His eyes were closed as he replied to Lucia's outburst. "Nobody told me anything. At this point I don't even think the bishop knows." He braved a glance from behind his half-rim glasses, still massaging his temples. "Whatever his majesty wants found appears to be a guarded secret."_

_Lucia threw her hands up in frustration and marched herself towards the middle of the minute space, effectively placing herself between Cahir and Tyrus. "And he still expects us to _find_ the damn thing?" Both priests winced as the crusader cursed in a house of God, but she appeared not to notice. "What are we supposed to do? If it gets sold off somewhere we could never find it! The thief could set it down somewhere and watch us walk by it fifty times!" Tyrus only nodded from his position at the back of Cahir's quarters. When Cahir paid him a glance he only shrugged helplessly. It was difficult to reclaim the field when Lucia was riled up. And it wasn't as if he disagreed with his partner. He was equally annoyed with this latest assignment, if somewhat less verbal in expressing his feelings._

_Cahir leaned back, adjusting his glasses with one hand. "Actually," he corrected, "I have been assured that whatever was stolen will not be pawned off somewhere." The hand that had fiddled with his spectacles was now doing a sort of rotating motion. It was an odd habit he had when he was trying to reassure someone of some point. "I was told that, if you are to find this mystery item, it will be in the hands of the man who took it."_

_Lucia's interest was piqued. She half turned to look over her shoulder, sharing an equally interested glance with Tyrus. Did this mean that whatever was taken would be easily recognized and become too hot to sell? Or was it a matter of significance to the thief?_

"_Furthermore," the middle-aged priest continued, "I have it on good authority that the thief is not a man who can be easily missed." _

_Lucia's lavender hair shifted from her shoulder as she cocked her head. "Then they already know who did it?"_

_Cahir nodded dully. "That was the implication. Problem is...." his eyes dropped to the ground and he scratched at the stubble under his chin anxiously. "....they didn't give me a name.."_

_Anticipating another outburst Tyrus stepped forward, placing a hand on Lucia's shoulder plate. She looked at him with surprise, her mouth already open to vent her frustration on Cahir again. "Father Cahir," Tyrus began, the polite smile he was known for present upon his face. "In spite of how disastrously vague the instructions have been, it seems to me that we are being tasked with hunting a gang of robbers." Lucia gently moved aside, granting the priest space with which to approach. They now stood side-by-side. "All other complaints aside, how is this the Church's problem?"_

_Stillness crept into the room. All noise both within and without Cahir's quarters seemed to be hushed by this query. Tyrus merely clasped his hands behind his back, while Lucia crossed her arms and pursed her lips thoughtfully. Cahir avoided their respective stares. Did they really want to hear him say "I don't know" again?_

* * *

Tyrus held his arms out for balance. Movement in the wagon was made tough by a complete lack of walking room. What was not already claimed by a bag or crate had become occupied when some box had broken open and spilled its contents into the precious space. That everything smelled vaguely like char didn't help either. There was another scent mixed in as well. Something mystifying. _It's a little like coffee, but stronger. Much stronger. I wonder what that is...._

The crusader propped her arms on the edge of the opening, leaning inward for a better view into the darkness. "Find anything yet?" she called out softly.

Half-stumbling on a stray apple, Tyrus called back "who knows? Maybe you should come in here and find out for yourself."

Lucia cracked a smile. "But my armor is so cumbersome. If I went back there I might accidentally wreck something important!"

The priest shot his partner a look of scorn and skepticism from the safety of the darkness before continuing his work. His precarious shuffle over the goods seemed to be earning him nothing in the way of information. It took him another few minutes of searching before something hit him.

"Hey, Lu. How significant do you think these robbers are?"

The armored woman perked up from her leaning position. "Significant? How do you mean?"

"Well think about it." Tyrus spoke in a voice strained through his teeth as he attempted to pry the lid off one of the few undamaged crates. "The king came to the Church for this. That usually doesn't happen unless someone important is on their death bed, poison has to be dealt with, or the undead are involved." The lid of the crate began to crack as it slowly gave way to brute force. "But what if the mission isn't what's important but.....maybe it's....the thief.....uuuuaaaaAAGH!" With this final roar the lid audibly splintered away.

Lucia nodded slowly, understanding dawning on her. "I get it....like if it's a rogue priest, or a monk, or maybe a-"

"AAAAAH!"

Lucia practically leaped out of her armor in fright as Tyrus screamed. "What? What's going on?" She had half climbed in when his voice flowed from the shadows.

"It's nothing! I....just got a little startled."

Lucia quirked a brow. "You sure?" Concern painted her tone.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'll be out in a minute."

She pressed a finger to her lips, wondering if she should question the incident further. _He said he's fine. And what could possibly hurt him in a little cart? Still...._

From inside Tyrus leaned over the box, staring at its contents. The crate itself had once been filled with potatoes. At least, that was what he _thought_ they were. They had been reduced to shambles, however, but that which had startled him. Crawling among the mass of near-liquefied roots were thousands of squirming organisms, weaving throughout the pile. His bravery returning to him, the priest pinched one between his thumb and forefinger and brought it up to his face. Though he could not see the grub perfectly in the light, he knew very well what it was.

_Skadi worms! I remember reading about these things. Something about an infestation that forced the Merchant's Guild to purge their fruit supply._ He brought the thing closer, eyeing it as it attempted to wriggle from his grasp. _They are supposed to be native to the Shwartzvald Republic, and their waste matter has a sharp odor similar to coffee grounds. _Having identified the squirmy thing, a puzzled look overtook his countenance. _But these Merchants would have checked their wares before departing. Countermeasures for this sort of thing exist. _Tyrus popped the grub back into the box in the same way one might flip a coin. _So how did this happen?_

* * *

The sun had drifted to a higher point above their heads, and yet they still continued searching for nothing. Lucia casually leaned against the ashen frame of the cart, twirling a strand of her lavender hair about on one iron-clad finger. Tyrus had been silent for a long while, and even she was unsure of what he hoped to find at this point. The bishop never struck her as a cruel or malevolent man, but there was no way a holy man could set someone to a task such as this. She had left her position earlier for a broader look at the scene. Other than those of the caravan and its guards, there were no tracks to be found. They could identify at least two of the perpetrators as a magic user and a user of arrows, but that did little good either. There was an interesting case where half of a wheel seemed to have dissolved into air, but that only created [i]more[/i] questions. It was infuriating!

The crusader cast her glance to the distance when a sharp set of footfalls reached her ear. A Peco Peco charged the site from some way off, atop which an armored figure could be clearly seen. Mildly curious about this individual, Lucia stepped away from the wagon as the bird swiftly covered the remaining distance. It came to a sudden stop only a few yards away, upon which its rider hastily dismounted. A mustached knight with hints of grey at the rim of his pudding basin hair, though strangely without a weapon. He advanced to Lucia with the same swiftness his bird had traveled.

"You are an investigator with the Church, correct?" the man inquired in drolling voice more commonly associated with a clerk or a man of law. Lucia had hardly opened her mouth when Tyrus flew from the cart, tumbling to the ground in his frantic rush. With similar speed he leaped to his feet and hurriedly dusted himself off.

"Yes! That is us!" The priest's tongue possessed the same rapidity as the rest of him at that moment. "Are you with the guard?"

The man's head jerked the slightest bit in response. It took them a moment to realize this was supposed to be a nod. "Indeed. I have been instructed by His Royal Highness to divulge certain information vital to your investigation."

Tyrus and Lucia shared their brightest glance that day. It seemed that their efforts would not go unrewarded after all.


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:** First, sorry for that wait! School got a bit more demanding recently. More importantly, I realized how oddly I concluded that last chapter. I will do my best to give my chapters more of a…completed feel.

**Chapter Two**

_**Dread**_

Anyone who ever bothered to observe a Poring for even the shortest amount of time would note their comical nature. Their fixed smile betrayed a simple temperament, with their amusing bounce always guided toward the shiniest of objects. Why Poringkind chose to scoop up the valuables they found was presently unknown, though like all such mysteries a multitude of theories existed. Whatever its reason, this particular Poring was just as much a slave to its urges as any other. It had found its way to a myriad of fun objects just a few hours back! Sure, there was that odd red stuff on the ground, but who cared? Everything was so shiny! Oh, what a joyous day it was shaping up to be! Everything had been tucked into its gelatinous body with care, and soon enough-

The assassin's strike came swiftly and without warning. The slice of the katar would seem like nothing more than a quick flash of light to the casual observer. Split neatly in half, the Poring died without even realizing it had been felled.

Ina stood over the pink mess, staring into the pile of zenny and baubles that had spilled out of the benign monster. It had probably been the fortieth one she had slain that day, and she would be quite displeased if her guess had been wrong again. To be fair, she was not ever sure if the object she desired was taken _by_ a Poring in the first place. It was just as likely that the bandits had made off with them. If that was the case her job would be much easier; their unique appearance would guarantee retribution from the guild if they were sold on any market within the borders of Rune Midgard. She did hope for at least the slightest reward for her hard work though.

Her eyes lit up ever-so-slightly as they fell upon an irregular object in the pile. Bending into a crouch, her gloved hand reached into the mound to delicately seize the gleaming oddity. What she removed was a single katar, drenched in the Poring's red mucus. And yet, even under the tint of the jelly, the weapon's unusual color scheme was apparent to her eyes. Smooth black blades with handles of the purest white. That alone placed it into a most select category. To be sure, Ina pushed past the scattered zenny and pulled its twin free. She turned this one over, inspecting its bleached handle. Behind the veil that concealed everything below the nose, she permitted the slightest smile to form on her lips. She had found what she was looking for.

* * *

Tyrus tilted his head back, eyeing the aged knight with a gaze that fell somewhere between tired and exasperated. "You really cannot tell us then?"

The knight, who had identified himself as Alban, jerked his shoulders in what might have been a shrug. "Regrettably, I am unable to divulge what was stolen. Even I am uninformed in this area."

Tyrus quietly sighed to himself while Lucia leaned inward, her arms resting on the barrel they had erected as a makeshift table. "Do you at least know why all of this secrecy is required? Whatever used to be in there wasn't particularly well guarded, if the bodies are any indication." Tyrus silently agreed with that observation. _All I see here are swordsmen and merchants. Assuming the swordsmen were assigned by the King, one would think the task of guarding such an important item would be delegated to men of greater skill than this._

One could almost see the gleam in Alban's eye as he replied to the crusader. "Actually, it was my understanding that this caravan was under the protection of more than mere swordsmen."

Tyrus' posture noticeably changed, having heard what he thought might be their first piece of relevant information since learning something was stolen in the first place.

"You see…." The knight leaned in, twisting his gray moustache with an iron-clad hand. "It was brought to my attention that, in addition to the theft, someone important died in this attack. Someone highly important." The investigators' stares implored him to go on. "I was not given much information on who this individual was," he continued in a hushed tone, "but that only confirms it. The fact that news of a death has not reached my ears only means that his being here is to be as hidden as what he was guarding."

"Why would such a thing be covered up?" Lucia inquired. She was surprised when Tyrus answered instead.

"He's saying the King did not want to draw attention to this convoy, so he charged a higher-up with guarding it in secret." He diverted his eyes from her, staring at the makeshift table in thought. "After all, if anyone found out that someone other than the usual rabble was protecting a bunch of merchants, they might wonder what was worth the defense."

Alban nodded. Lucia sat back on the crate she had chosen as her chair, arms crossed across her chest. "Alright, but unless he's hiding around here somewhere he probably died. If he was so skilled he had to be _hidden_, what kind of people attacked this place?"

"That is something I would like to know as well."

All three parties had a similar yet wholly different reaction to the newcomer. Tyrus, who had detected the speaker's arrival only a split second before she spoke, expressed his surprise in his eyes only. Lucia actually left her seat, but paused when she realized who had spoken. Alban had the most dramatic response of them all. He actually managed to pull the spear from where it had been strapped to his back and thrust it at the new arrival, halting the point just before it would have been driven through her face. "What reason do you have to be here?" he questioned gruffly. "This meeting is not for public viewership."

Ina's dark eyes first regarded the pole arm, followed by its wielder. "Beware your next move," she coldly cautioned, "I am not in the mood to be toyed with." Alban's eyes narrowed in response, but it was not he who made the next move.

Tyrus sighed loudly. "Same as always, I see." A faint smile crept across his lips. "Someday that dramatic flair of yours will get you killed, Ina."

The assassin's eyes shifted to the priest. Though she did not physically smile (and one could not tell anyway, thanks to her mask) the glow of her eyes returned the expression. "And your own nature will be the end of you. Most sane men would react to a sudden intrusion."

Tyrus merely shrugged helplessly. "What can I say? Lucia's the muscle, so if she doesn't respond it doesn't matter what I do."

Alban's stare traveled between the two, his bemusement plainly visible. "You are....familiar with each other?"

Lucia leaned back, propping her feet on the barrel and crossing her arms. Her eyes were half-lidded by vexation. "Unfortunately they are." She regarded Ina. "Long time no see." The assassin nodded respectfully to Lucia, but did not return the cold greeting.

Alban cautiously lowered his lance, but did not seem to drop his surly attitude towards the woman. "Be that as it may, this is still not her concern." He returned to a sitting position, propping his chin in his hand. "If you do not have a valid reason to be here, I must order you to leave us." All present expected Ina to depart. She did not. Instead, without missing a beat, she undid a large pouch that had been tied to her waist. Her hand was in and out in a split-second, leaving a single katar to clatter atop the barrel.

Lucia picked the thing up, examining it. She noted the odd coloration of the weapon. It was interesting to look at; as though someone had inverted the color. It felt somehow sticky, but she was not sure of the significance of this adhesive texture. After a moment she noticed something indented into the steel of the hilt. Letters, in a flashily cursive text, spelling out the name "Lydia". Lucia had many questions concerning this weapon, but was unwilling to state them to Ina. Tyrus, sensing this, decided to get it out.

"Ina, what exactly is this?"

The assassin crossed her arms under her breasts. She averted her gaze from the others, pitching her braid across her back. "That is the signature weapon of Orion the Nightshade, an assassin cross and direct hand of King Tristan III."

Among them, only Alban avoided drawing a blank. His aged countenance grew absolutely pale as the name spilled from Ina's lips. "That cannot….." He clasped his hands together, lowering his head to them as if in prayer. "God help us all….Orion…." Tyrus and Lucia remained silent, but in a sober state rather than a confused one. They still had no idea who Orion was, but they had pieced that he was not one to be trifled with. Especially if he was truly Transcended.

Silence lingered for a good while. Alban retained his subdued shock while the Church representatives attempted to piece their thoughts together. Ina stared off into the sunlit horizon, off to where Izude lay several miles from them. What was there to say? Tyrus was thankful that he was finally getting something out of this, but exactly _what_ was he getting? Where was this going? Where _could_ it possibly go? And more importantly, why was the Church involved in this? There was one thing he was sure of though, and that was that Orion was a lead. _It will be difficult to follow, but Orion is a trail. If I can find out what his more recent services to the King have been, I could potentially figure out what we are trying to find. I can't just let that slip by!_

Ultimately, and perhaps appropriately, it was Ina who brought the stillness to an end. Turning, she drew herself closer to Alban, so that she almost towered over him. The gaze she cast down upon the knight was one of impatience. "You seem to understand what it means to lose Orion," she began solemnly. "The fact of the matter is that the Guild has its concerns as well. My mission was to verify Orion's death and retrieve his weapons, but I must now know……" Her dark eyes narrowed, though neither Tyrus nor Lucia were able to determine what emotion brought this about. "….I must know what simple bandit possessed the skill to kill him. To kill one of the greatest Transcended to have ever walked the guild halls."

The experienced knight did not so much as stir for a time. He remained as he had, hunched and hiding from the world. Much time seemed to pass, though in actuality it could not have been any longer than thirty seconds. Distant cries of novices and beginning adventurers could be heard far off, doing battle with what Porings Ina had not already slain. The clatter from Prontera, now in full force at midday, just barely reached their ears. Lucia was sure that, if she listened hard enough, she could probably hear her companion's _thoughts_ in the mass tranquility.

Much to everyone's relief, Alban finally stirred.

"The man you seek....the man who did this...." Not one of them could put their finger on it, but man seemed visibly shaken. And not just by the news of Orion. "This man…..he is no ordinary man…..you know of him, surely. I don't know who does not know of this individual. This.....this demon among men."

Lucia stood at this point, her impatience finally manifesting itself at its pinnacle. "Either say it or don't! Spit it out!"

Alban's head crept up, his eyes as blank as the dead. His lips moved, and all was still again. For Tyrus and Lucia, a great dread rooted itself at their cores, refusing to budge regardless of their attempts to refuse it. Even Ina, stoic as she was, could not conceal her shock at the name. They had indeed heard it. It was the name of the greatest murderer seen in some time, rivaled only by the hero-hunter Baphomet. It was fear incarnate.

"The one who killed these people is Melchior, Hunter of All."

* * *

**End Notes: **And after three installments, the plot rears its head!


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes:** Late chapter? What do you mean?

**Chapter Three**

_**Prayer**_

For a city of such girth, Prontera was not big on drinking establishments. It was said that their number was once greater, but the tax on alcohol within the capital's walls drove a great many out of business. King Tristan, it seemed, did not appreciate the vast amounts of crime often associated with large quantities of booze. And so there now stood only a single pub in all of the city, and if you didn't live or work nearby then that was too damn bad.

It was at this very pub, just following the retirement of the sun and its radiance, that Lucia and Ina presided.

"So Ina," Lucia began, leaning inward and still keeping a hold on her frothing mug, "why exactly is it that Tyrus holds you in his company?" The assassin sitting across from her did not meet her gaze, as if reminiscing. Lucia did not much like the woman or her line of work, but had to admit that without the face-covering veil she looked quite pretty. The high cheeks and unblemished face gave her a sort of regal beauty. The fact that her blonde hair was still in a bun did wonders for the nobility effect.

"He never told you, then?" Ina took the slightest sip from her cup, which was notably smaller than the crusader's massive beverage. "You two seemed close. I always assumed he had said something." Her eyes flickered back to Lucia questioningly.

The lavender-haired woman shrugged in reply. "He said you two went back a few years, but I never bothered to ask." Her face wore an exasperated expression. "He was always a funny guy, so at first I didn't want to know what he had done to be acquainted with an assassin."

Ina permitted a dry chuckle for this. "That is fair enough, I suppose." She casually moved the cup in a whirling motion, causing the contents within to slosh around of its own inertia. "If that is all you should be pleased to know that our relation stems from his sister."

Lucia's face adopted a stare of legitimate surprise. "From Saera? I never heard of such a thing." She was more than familiar with the paladin, who stood as a bit of a legend in the eyes of the Church. Transcended tended to do that though. "And to be honest it sounds even more far-fetched. She was probably even more pious than Tyrus."

"It makes sense that you might not know." Ina let the cup rest back on the table. "Saera tended to keep her… less virtuous contacts below the radar, often for the reason you yourself pointed out."

Lucia tilted her head. "And how exactly did someone like you come to know a paladin anyway?"

It was Ina's turn to shrug. "Back when I was still a thief I attempted to rob her."

There was a silence between the two, during which the dull roar of the establishment's other patrons filled the gap between them. Twenty seconds....thirty seconds....fourty....fifty....

The two women burst into laughter. Lucia planted her face into her arms and laughed into the table, while Ina held a more composed giggle and politely held her hand to fingers mouth, somewhat embarrassed.

It took another full minute for the ladies to calm down, their prior resentment of each other gradually returning. Lucia's cheeks still held fast to a bit of flush though.

"So let me get this straight...." The crusader's first words after recovering. "You....a thief...tried to mug Saera?" Traces of Ina's smile remained.

"It was most unfortunate but yes. Even with four of my most reliable guildmates we were soundly beaten." She gripped the cup again, and before raising it to her lips, added: "Thankfully she was not the sort of woman to hold a grudge."

Lucia nodded almost dreamily, tugging a lock of lavender hair back behind an ear. "Yeah….She was strong in more ways than one. It's too bad about...."

Anyone observing the two would feel the icy pall that had been draped over them. Saera had been powerful indeed, but there was little anyone could do when your enemy was Baphomet.

This painfully different silence lingered about, with both Lucia and Ina sampling their respective beverages. The barrier they had smashed down was erected once more. Ultimately, however, it was the assassin who offered her voice.

"You really intend to seek Melchior then?"

Lucia was silent, her gaze directed to the folks at the bar. The mug hung limply in her hand, like some neglected lantern. "It looks like that will be our mission." Her words were flat, humorless. Ina closed her eyes solemnly.

"It is a good thing you have Tyrus then," she stated. "You will need all of the prayer you can muster."

Silence held dominion once more.

* * *

The streets of Prontera were dead-silent. At least, such was the case in this particular portion of it. Tyrus found that the closer to the castle you got, the less people seemed to have business in the later hours. Everything from the square down was bound to be active, but nobody strayed here. The party was away from the government, where city officials were less likely to slam them with a fine of some sort. It also probably helped that the local jail, was found here as well. Tyrus knew this very well, as that was where he was headed.

Marching up the steps, the priest opened the old wooden door with a violent creak. Just inside was a small-ish room presenting two more doors, a well maintained lantern suspended from the ceiling, and a man seated behind an oaken desk. It was to this individual that Tyrus gave his pleasant smile.

"Pardon me, but I am here to pick someone up."

The man, with a look of mixed surprise and boredom, looked the priest up and down. "You are? I suppose you will be paying off any fines they have as well?"

He only nodded gently. "Yes, that is acceptable."

Somewhat curious, the man adjusted his chair and opened one of the books at his desk. "Very well then," he continued. "Can I have the individual's name please?"

* * *

"...but you should have seen the other guy! Sure, that sword _looks_ big, but that doesn't mean jack if he can't swing it!"

Tyrus only smiled awkwardly at the young man talking. "Yes, well, if you aren't in two pieces I suppose that means you won." He felt he should be scolding the kid, but couldn't quite bring himself to do it.

Trotting alongside him was a teen, maybe 14 years old at best, with neck-length brown hair and muscles on his arms and legs that seemed almost too well defined for someone his age. He wore the dobok of a taekwon boy, lending some justification to this. It was his eyes, however, that seemed to shine with a sort of fire. At least that was how Tyrus' very un-poetic mind described it. Perhaps someone else could do a better job.

And besides, his mouth was even greater still.

"Psh, you're damn right I'm alive!" Garret continued. "Big guys with bigger weapons are no match for my superior Heel Drop! And if that doesn't work...." His bare foot launched itself into the air for punctuation. "The Roundhouse!"

Tyrus smiled encouragingly. "You have developed finely since your novice days! I suppose you wish to become a taekwon master at this point?"

Garret brought his leg down, swapping it out for a clenched fist that seemed to say "bring it on!" His fiery grin did nothing to alter the impression. "Hell yeah! I'm gonna stomp every bastard who gets in my way _flat_!"

"Your ambition is wonderful as always!" He tilted his head. "Are you sure you aren't forgetting something though?"

Garret's grin gave way for a perplexed stare. "Forgetting? Like what?"

The priest looked to the horizon, stroking his chin as if pondering something at the back of his mind. "Well, it isn't too important, but I heard that Alysa caught wind of your brawl. I wonder if she cares too much about you spending time in a jail cell…?"

Garret's metamorphosis upon having the acolyte's name brought to light was without flaw; a perfect transition from comprehension, to realization, to worry, to outright terror. "W-W-Wait! Alysa knows?"

Tyrus continued staring off absently, doing his best not to laugh. "Oh yes, very much so. She was quite disappointed. A bit fumy as well." He went from stroking his chin to tapping it. "I wonder how she will greet you now that you are a free man again....?"

Garret seemed to flail about, cowering under his arms as he seemed to scan the area for a would-be attacker. "Crapcrapcrapcrap! She's gonna kill me!" His feet now began to work in what seemed to be a flustered dance. Again, Tyrus had to struggle not to laugh. "Gah! Why did it have to be like this! I'm too young to die!"

Tyrus returned his gaze to the panicked taekwon boy. "Well," he offered hopefully, "perhaps if you get her something nice before you see her again you could skid by with an apology?" The boy practically flung himself at Tyrus with an agility that surprised them both.

"Great idea! That's a great idea!" He flailed is arms about again. "Quickly, we need to find some place to get flowers! And chocolates! And diamonds! Fifty-pound diamonds!"

Tyrus did laugh a little at this. "Diamonds might be a bit extreme. I do know a few places to shop around for ideas though!"

And so the two headed down the street. A flustered Garret with his spastic limbs and pleading voice, and a cheerful Tyrus pondering the future.


End file.
